Sheltering His Desire (3 page)

Alyssia was too tired to roll her eyes. She
didn’t want to talk about Tate, because that meant thinking about
him. And thinking about him meant regret, embarrassment, and a want
she couldn’t sate. “Not for at least six hours.” She grabbed her
mug from its spot near the sink, and filled it as full of coffee as
she could. She followed that with generous helping of sugar and
cream. Coffee threatened to escape as she stirred the mixture
together. She took a long drink, not caring that it scalded her
throat and tongue going down.

“Did the police say when they’d be by?” she
asked as she wandered back into the lobby. She didn’t have to ask
if Sara had called. There was no question the dog’s injuries were
at least partially intentional, and that meant filing a report.
Unfortunately, it didn’t guarantee the felony conviction that
should go along with the abuse, but it helped.

“I told them you’d be gone by seven. They
said they’d be in before then.”

The chairs called her name, but Alyssia
couldn’t sit down until she was a little more awake. “Did the girl
leave a name?”

“No. But Tate really does know her and the
dog. Called her Cait. She asked us not to mention her.”

Alyssia rubbed her eyes as a new wave of
exhaustion washed over her. That was never a good sign. Dread
joined her jumbled thoughts as Tate’s response about being friends
with the dog floated back to mock her. Please, please, please let
it not be someone powerful enough to do something like have the
city change her zoning.

The front door chimed, and Sara hit the
button to release the afterhours lock and let Tate in. The moment
he stepped through the door, the scent of chilies and enchilada
sauce nearly knocked Alyssia over. She was hungrier than she
realized. She had to force herself to not tear into the food the
moment he set the box in front of her. He leaned against the other
side of the counter as she and Sara dug in.

“You’re a heaven-sent demon,” Sara told
him.

“And not eating,” Alyssia said once she
realized it.

He shook his head. “Some of us have to sleep
tonight, not tomorrow morning.

Right. She’d kept him up all night. “Thank
you for everything. We’re okay, now.”

He still didn’t move. His fingers twitched,
and he stared at the wall behind her head.

Was he really making her do this? Why did he
have to spoil the moment? “And earlier is in the past, right?”

“What?” He shook his head and finally looked
at her. “Right. Earlier. Yeah. In the past.” His brow furrowed.
“The dog’s name is Grim. He belongs to Thompson’s kid.”

Alyssia’s appetite evaporated in an instant.
He probably didn't have the power to get her zoning changed. Not
directly anyway. But he did own a local TV network affiliate, which
tended to be vocal about businesses he didn't like. He’d done
editorial pieces on their place before, about how it was a waste of
valuable retail space and community resources. Now she was about to
potentially file criminal charges against his teenage son. She
nibbled at her food, no longer tasting it. “Of course he does.”

“He can’t do anything other than huff and
puff. I’ll be back tomorrow night, we’ll get your campaign up and
running, and the one side of the business will never touch the
other.”

She ignored the reminder they would have made
more headway tonight if she hadn’t thrown a tantrum. The last thing
she needed was to linger on the memory of the kiss. She was too
busy trying to convince herself things really would be as easy as
he said.

The moment the shelter door swung shut behind
the police officer, Alyssia sank into a nearby waiting room chair.
She leaned the back of her head against the wall, closed her eyes,
and let the rising sun warm her face. Exhaustion rolled through
every inch of her body. She was pretty sure last night had been the
longest night of her life. Of course, just like the second longest
night of her life, it had started with Tate, and her making a fool
of herself.

She shouldn’t go there. But she was too tired
to hold back the unwelcome memory. Exhaustion seeped through her,
dragging the memory with it. That night, eight years ago. She’d
just barely turned eighteen, and her date to senior prom had
canceled last minute.

When Tate found out, and asked if he could
take her, she thought it was because he liked her. Teenage-her
hoped he’d finally figured out she
like
-liked him, and he
felt the same. She’d been in heaven the whole night. Some of her
friends were dating college guys, but her, she got to show up with
someone who was post-grad.

He’d been the perfect date. Sweet, attentive,
a gentleman. Her friends insisted that meant he loved her. At
eighteen years old, and crushing hard, that was exactly what she
needed to hear.

She bit back a bitter laugh at the unwelcome
rush of images and emotions. She’d thrown herself at him. Getting
laid on prom night—all the movies told her that was a guarantee,
and who better to lose her virginity to than the man of her
dreams?

Turned out he was just that kind to everyone,
and that he’d only asked her as a favor to her brother.

She sniffled and forced herself upright,
shoving away the rest of the memory and the ache in her gut. Now
she’d made the same mistake again.

But had she? He’d been interested, she knew
it. The kind of reaction he’d had to her last night. Even before
she touched him he’d been turned on.

“Ms. Tippins.” A familiar voice burned away
the last of her wandering thoughts, and she snapped back to the
now.

Bryce Thompson. Sick dread made her insides
lurch. She had a feeling he was about to become the bane of her
existence. The older gentleman stood a few feet from her chair, not
a single wrinkle or piece of fluff on his suit. His hands were
clasped in front of him, and his dark eyes narrowed and locked on
her.

“Good morning.” She scrambled to her feet.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Sure, he’d made it clear in the past
he thought her shelter was a waste of resources. That he was
planning to tear the entire building to the ground to make room for
retail property. On top of that, she’d just finished filling out a
police report that directly involved his family.

Yeah, this was going to suck. She should have
gone home as soon as she had the chance. It wouldn’t have been fair
to leave her staff with this burden, though.

His jaw-set expression never even twitched.
“I understand you have my dog.”

She could bend the truth a little. Tell him
no, they didn’t have anyone’s dog until the animal was adopted into
an actual caring family. Delaying the inevitable wouldn’t make
things better. “I understand the same thing.”

“I’m here to retrieve him. How much do I owe
you?” He pulled a checkbook from his jacket breast pocket.

This was too easy. He was being too calm.
Alyssia’s ill-ease grew, rolling through her and dragging more
exhausted tension to the surface. “There’s no charge. I can’t—”

“No wonder you don’t make any money here.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up in a sneer. “I’ll take him and
leave then.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of
the morning volunteers—the guy was as solid as a brick wall and
almost as wide as he was tall, and normally a total sweetheart—step
forward. She met his gaze, but didn’t motion for him to stand back.
Sweet disposition or not, his bulk was intimidating, and his
presence made confronting Mr. Thompson that much less
terrifying.

“You can’t take him.” She pushed the words
out quickly, not talking over Thompson as effectively has he had
with her, but still determined not to be interrupted again. “The
new owners will pay whatever fees are associated with his care, and
until then, he’s not ready to be moved. He’s still recovering, and
will be for several more days.”

“I see.” He scribbled in his checkbook and
tore the piece of paper out. “Then I’ll be back when he can be
moved.”

“You can’t take him home.” Damn it, why
wasn’t he listening to her? Frustration crawled under her skin like
a million ants, and she shoved her hands in her pockets to hide her
clenching fists. She dragged up every ounce of forcefulness she
had, and crammed it into her voice. “He belongs in a good home
where he won’t be hurt again.”

He locked his gaze on hers, eyes hard and
unyielding. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

He set the check on the counter, and was
through the front door before she could say anything else.

A whole new wave of frustration crashed over
her, mingling with everything else that had been the last twelve
hours of her life, and sapping away her restraint. She had to bite
the inside of her cheek to keep a string of profanities from
spilling out. She grabbed the check off the counter, cringed at the
four-figure amount he’d randomly chosen to write it for, a tore it
into little tiny pieces.

It didn’t solve anything, but the simple act
made her feel a little better. A little.

****

“Alan.” Tate stood at the front of the
conference room. He capped the dry erase marker and set it on the
tray of the white board before turning to his administrative
assistant. “Do you have this?”

Alan nodded, and Tate let his attention
travel around the room, scanning the remaining faces. “Any other
questions or concerns?”

He was met with a series of shaking heads and
smiles. He was lucky he had a solid team on this project.
Technically they were all on loan from Skriddie as contractors. The
lines of the new business venture were blurred, but he was close to
making the crowdfunding venture its own entity.

While it was nice to get back into the
technical side of things, especially getting to meld it with the
marketing he loved, he’d been working directly with sales so long
that a good group made the transition easier.

He turned back to Alan. “Action items?”

His assistant ran through the list, and Tate
made sure everyone was ready for their test users to launch by the
end of the week. Tonight with Alyssia had to be all business. Not
that it would be anything else. He still didn’t know what had
happened yesterday. His pulse twitched at the memories—the way she
tasted, the tiny gasps she made when they kissed, and the
combination of frustration and desire she’d managed to overload him
with.

He tried to shake the thoughts away. The
meeting wrapped up, and everyone headed back to their desks. Images
of Alyssia still taunted him as he made his way to his office. Damn
it, why was she getting in his head now? They’d dealt with this and
moved on all those years ago. Or, at least, he thought they had.
She’d barely been legal when he’d offered to be her last minute
date for her senior prom. She’d looked gorgeous in that dress, no
longer the little girl who tagged along with them as kids. And when
she’d all but thrown herself at him—both too much and nothing like
last night—he’d had to tell her no.

The rambling combination of fantasy and
denial skidded from his mind when he pushed open his office door.
Speaking of relationships that had jaded his reality. An older
woman sat in the chair across from his desk, not looking up at the
soft creak. She scrolled through her phone. He personally knew her
hair wasn’t that shade of auburn, but not because her hairdresser
had made any mistakes hiding the gray.

He hid his sigh. “Are you here for business,
or personal reasons?” Her answer would determine how he addressed
her. He didn’t like keeping his tone so formal, but years of having
it drilled into his head didn’t leave him much choice. There were
no favorites in his mother’s business world. Especially when it
came to family. Though more and more their recent run-ins made him
wonder if she was pushing things in the other direction.
Discounting his ideas because of their relationship. He wasn’t sure
if she was doing it to prove there was no favoritism, or for some
other reason, but each time they talked business, he became more
convinced he wasn’t imagining it.

She locked her phone and returned it to her
purse, never turning to look at him. “Personal.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not.
He gave her a light kiss on the cheek before moving around his desk
and dropping into his chair. “It’s lovely to see you, Mother.”

“Of course.” Her smile was as formal as his
greeting. “How are things going, darling?” Her soft southern accent
slipped in, adding a layer of artificial sugar to her words. He
might not see it that way, except he knew the lilting drawl
vanished the moment she was in a business meeting and felt like it
would make her appear anything less than intelligent and
businesslike.

“Fantastic. I’ve been drumming. Women think
it’s sexy as all get out. And I’m thinking of trading in the
Bentley for an F-150.” He cranked his own drawl a couple of
notches, poured out the clichés she saw as being ‘too hick’ for
people like them, and never let his pleasant expression slip.
“Y’all should stop by this weekend if you’re free.”

Her eye twitched and he knew he’d pushed the
right buttons. Maybe he shouldn’t have, but sometimes her sense of
propriety rubbed him the wrong way.

Still, she kept smiling. “Sounds wonderful,
darling. How’s your little project coming along?”

He resisted the urge to snarl at the disdain
in her question. She hadn’t supported the idea for the
crowd-funding offshoot. Had shot down his bids to rent the
Skriddie’s resources, saying that wasn’t the industry they were in,
and as COO of her husband’s company, she had that kind of veto
power. “I thought we weren’t discussing business.” His voice was
flat.

“So right.” Her eyes hardened, and her lips
drew into a thin line. “How’s Jared’s baby sister doing? The one
who follows you two everywhere, bless her little heart?”